


work hard, play harder

by aiyah



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Interviews, M/M, Pining, Porn Some Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah
Summary: When Sokka takes the mantra "work smarter, not harder" to the next level, Zuko's the oneenjoyingsuffering the consequences.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 709





	work hard, play harder

**Author's Note:**

> . . .
> 
> i will preface this by saying that my beta took one look at the prompt(?) and said: "oh my god!! talk about power move"

✦ ✧ ✦

“So tell me a little more about yourself.”

The interviewer’s voice sounds familiar, but Zuko’s far too distracted to be paying attention.

“Well, my name’s Sokka Qanik, and I’m currently a senior at Boiling Rock.” Sokka’s voice is deep with a slight lilt, echoing off the living room walls. “And I love a good challenge.”

Zuko groans.

“So I’m a CS major in the engineering school,” Sokka continues, shuffling his phone in one hand as he jams it awkwardly between his chin and his shoulder. “I’m looking for jobs in the tech industry, and one of your recruiters reached out to me after the career fair last month?”

“Go on?” The interviewer replies, voice scratchy and loud on the phone, turned up to maximum volume.

Zuko grits his teeth in frustration.

“So I did some research into your company and found that you were hiring software engineers?” Sokka shifts in his seat and _oh_ —Zuko bites the inside of his cheek to keep from physically crying out. He’s doing everything he can to stay still, trying to distract himself and looking anywhere, everywhere except at Sokka and his damn blue eyes.

“Mhm.”

“So I decided to _apply_ —” and _oh fuck, please, not there, anything but right there_ , “—because I’m very interested in your company’s vision.” Sokka pauses, a twist of laughter bubbling in his tone as he reaches up to stroke Zuko’s hair, all gentle and carefree—

—and not like there’s several inches (and then some) of himself buried up in Zuko’s ass at the moment.

“I hate you,” Zuko whispers between clenched teeth, the pain and arousal mixing together and turning his cheeks a delightful shade of red. “ _I hate you so much_.”

Sokka presses a finger to Zuko’s lips and smirks as he pulls out and slams back in.

Zuko’s eyes roll up in his head as he tries desperately to remember how they even ended up like this in the first place, with Sokka sitting on the couch, all calm and collected, face brightening in amusement as Zuko squirms by the second.

( _And_ the phone. Don’t forget about the phone, with the interviewer on the other end, completely oblivious to what’s happening over the line.)

This, this—whatever _this_ is—this was never supposed to happen.

No. Sokka had come over for a tutoring session to help Zuko out with some stupid, inane statistics class Zuko had to take as a graduation requirement. (Because the best part of any college education is taking inane and irrelevant courses seven-degrees-of-separation away from a person’s actual major, even though Zuko had already gotten a return offer from the firm he worked at last summer already.)

“You’re my best friend,” Sokka had said. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you go out into the workforce without even knowing what a chi-squared test is?”

“A nice one?”

“Ha, good one,” Sokka snickered. “But not today.”

Which is how they had ended up sitting side by side in the Zuko’s living room, squished together on Zuko’s sofa, a tower of printed slidesets (Zuko’s always been a bit more old-school) and a stack of textbooks and review material looming ominously over both of them. Sokka had read through slide by slide of Professor Pakku’s notes, pausing every so often to highlight a specific equation (“this is important”), to jot down some tips and tricks in his dreadfully illegible scrawl (“kinda important”), or to ignore entire sections of the slideset altogether (“bitch, please”).

No. Sokka was supposed to leave after that hour to wait for some important call about recruitment or something, and Zuko—Zuko, in the infinite wisdom and courtesy befitting every single person in the Huo household—had casually suggested that if _Sokka wanted to stay over, he could, and would you like some hot tea while you wait?_

And Sokka—to Zuko’s surprise—had agreed.

No. Zuko had brought out a pot of oolong tea and a plate of freshly-baked egg tarts from the bakery downstairs, all flaky and delicate, hands trembling as he placed the platter on the coffee table in front of his ~~crush~~ best friend. Sokka didn’t need to know anything about his feelings, didn’t need to know about the nights Zuko spent tossing and turning in bed, didn’t need to know that Zuko was only semi-failing his stats class at this point.

(The _semi_ is important. Zuko was, well—he wasn’t _completely_ inept at stats, okay?—only semi-failing the class because he had been thinking too much about the captivating computer science major and not enough about the fact that he’s a few homework points short of allowing his hard-earned credits and graduation go up in flames.)

And his feelings were, well. Zuko could deal with the months of pining and awkward stares, of platonic side-hugs and playful nose-boops, but there was only so much he could take, watching Sokka from afar. There was only two more months—two more hellish, drawn-out months—of college left, then graduation, then work and— _fuck_.

Zuko had completely forgotten about the fact that he might never see Sokka again, depending on where he decided to work, and the thought was so appalling, he had basically locked it in a box and threw away the key. Until the key had decided to resurface and the box suddenly opened, bringing in a fresh wave of questions along with his intrusive thoughts.

“Hey, Zuko?” Sokka cleared his throat, startling Zuko out of his thoughts. “I need to tell you something.”

A wall of apprehension built up around Zuko’s throat and he quashed it with a sip of scalding tea. “What?”

“This is actually going to be our last session, actually,” Sokka said, eyes downcast. “I’m not going to tutor you anymore.”

Zuko could feel a lump of something catching in his throat, something cloying and suffocating. Had Sokka figured it out—had he somehow discovered the thoughts that Zuko was having about him? Was he disgusted by him? Was that why he wasn’t going to tutor Zuko anymore?

( _Why don’t they teach you about handling rejection in school?_ he wondered bitterly.)

( _At least there’s only two more months left_. _Then you’ll never have to see him again_.)

“Oh, um.” The words were muddling in Zuko’s mouth and he didn’t want to say them because yes, if he said them, it meant that he was acknowledging that everything was over. “Um, okay. I mean, um, you were doing it for free anyways, right?” Zuko let out a dry laugh. “So, yeah. Totally understand.”

A surge of vertigo engulfed Zuko, and he put his teacup down and smiled weakly at Sokka. Dear Agni, he hoped he wasn’t tearing up or anything, because how humiliating would that be, to cry in front of your crush of two-and-a-half years? He couldn’t bear to ask why—more like he didn’t want to know why, to be honest—Sokka had decided to stop tutoring him, and was sure that whatever the answer was would hurt him.

So Zuko decided to eat his feelings instead, hoping to keep his despair at bay. And when he had bit into his egg tart and wiped his mouth with his thumb, when Sokka had turned to him, eyes crinkling as he reached out to brush away a stray crumb from the edge of Zuko’s lips—

Fuck.

Which somehow turned into the most awkward staring contest of Zuko’s life, just peering anxiously into Sokka’s eyes and wondering what the other boy was thinking—

—until Sokka had leaned forward, teacup clattering as he somehow managed to fumble it onto the table, and suddenly flower-butter-sweet wasn’t the only thing Zuko could taste on his lips anymore.

Sokka had tasted like salt, like a wisp of smoke on a summer’s day, all char and no burn. One searing kiss became two, then three, and by the time Zuko had been able to come up for a gasp of air, he didn’t have enough fingers and toes to keep track of how many kisses they shared.

Zuko truly didn’t remember what happened or who made the next move, only that Sokka had pulled him close until their chests were practically touching, an unsteady tango of heartbeats against one another. His kiss-stung lips quivered when Sokka reached towards a button on Zuko’s shirt, a quiet question of consent on his lips, and Zuko squeezed his hand.

 _Yes_.

And gone were Zuko’s button-up shirt and pants (off the couch and Agni-knows-where, honestly) with Sokka smiling up at him as he pulled off his own clothes and tossed them haphazardly across the room, a feral grin stretching across his face as he pounced.

(Okay. Time out.)

Sokka had _definitely_ made the first move, because Zuko was off the couch one second and in Sokka’s lap the next, knees awkwardly straddling Sokka’s thighs as Sokka guided Zuko’s hands around his shoulders.

“Lean on me,” he whispered before he kissed Zuko’s collarbone and his lips drifted downwards, past Zuko’s heart and towards his nipple, tugging it, licking it, pinching it while his hands found their way around to Zuko’s ass, fondling and massaging it all the while.

Zuko had struggled, his body trembling under Sokka’s watchful ministrations, pleasure curling up his toes and along his spine. It felt like a slumbering beast was awakening inside him, something bestial, something reckless, something wild that he had never even thought could exist within him until now.

There was more whispering and kissing and stroking as they explored each other’s bodies tentatively, Zuko’s hands shaking when he ran his hand through Sokka’s wolftail and tugged slightly, watching as the other boy hissed in delight.

“Do that again,” Sokka growled before he found Zuko’s clip and pulled it out, releasing a torrent of sable past Zuko’s shoulders and coming to a rest over his hip bones.

“ _You are so gorgeous_ ,” Sokka whispered, almost reverently, when he stopped to admire Zuko, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear and running a finger over Zuko’s scar. “ _So. Fucking. Gorgeous_.”

(Which had, obviously, touched something deep inside Zuko that he didn’t realize he even was there, which made him that much more excited and terrified of what was to come.)

Then both of them were well and truly grinding against each other on Zuko’s plush sofa, an open bottle of lube teetering on the table with a scattering of unopened condoms to match. Zuko was perched on top of Sokka, hands digging into Sokka’s shoulders as he babbled softly when Sokka worked him open with those wickedly dexterous fingers of his. Sokka had gently pulled Zuko downwards and eased himself in for the first time—slowly, then all at once—setting off a trail of fireworks across Zuko’s entire body as Sokka reached places deep inside Zuko that had never been touched before. Sokka had set an agonizingly steady pace, pushing Zuko closer and closer to the edge, crooning sweet nothings in Zuko’s ear and —

And _of course_ , Sokka’s phone had picked that exact moment to ring, the infuriating noise of the default marimbas shocking Zuko right out of hyperspace and sending alarm bells blaring _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND?_ in his mind. This had, predictably, caused him to panic and flail around as he attempted to disentangle himself from Sokka’s grasp, because _no, this cannot be happening, get your act together, Zuko Huo, or else_ —

—only for Sokka to grab his arm and pull him back in, a hoarse “ _don’t go_ ” resonating in Zuko’s ear as he stopped struggling.

Zuko had sunk back down on Sokka in one swift motion, tears prickling on his eyelashes when Sokka nonchalantly leaned forward (oh) and picked up his phone from the coffee table, one arm wrapped protectively around Zuko’s waist (oh) as he juggled his phone in one hand and Zuko in the other.

( _Oh_.)

Zuko could hear the interviewer’s voice on the other end of the line when Sokka turned the volume all the way up. “If you're comfortable, would you mind if we just conduct the interview now so you don't have to come in?”

“Of course,” Sokka had said, a cheeky grin forming on his face as he flicked one of Zuko’s nipples and peered into Zuko’s eyes as if to say, _you up for this?_

(One look, and Zuko wouldn't say no, because the thrill of not getting caught was overriding the remnants of his common sense.)

(Oh, _fuck_.)

And now they’re here, with Sokka chatting it up for his _job interview_ and Zuko two jolts away from shattering into a million pieces.

In hindsight, all of this—whatever _this_ is—is a terrible idea, really. Kissing Sokka had been entirely too addictive yet simple, easy, fun—but this? Zuko shudders as another wave of pleasure overwhelms him, a riptide curling up his ankles, past his lungs and over his head. He’s transfixed and mortified and terrifyingly aroused at the same time, holding back tiny sounds from escaping behind his gritted teeth. Zuko himself is in quite the precarious position, his body performing a veritable calisthenics workout as he balances in Sokka’s lap and attempts to hold himself together at the same time. His thighs are shot, his shoulders strained, and he barely has half a brain cell left to keep it all on this corporeal plane.

 _There should be an Olympic event for this_ , Zuko thinks, even though he isn’t sure what category it would fit in, if there was even a category for it at all. After all, there’s no “ _I’m-fucking-my-best-friend-while-he’s-on-an-interview-call_ ” event.

( _You’d probably get a gold medal then_. That half of the brain cell taunts him.)

( _That’s reassuring to hear. From you_.)

( _It’s too bad you can’t just put this on your resumé_.)

( _Will you just shut the fuck_ — _ah!_ )

Then Sokka’s twitching inside of him—that _goddamn, feisty idiot of an engineer_ —and Zuko claps a hand up to his mouth as tightly as he can. There’s no amount of anything that can keep him from screaming now besides what little remains of his self-control, and his cheeks are positively aching at the sheer exertion of _nonono, not like this, you have to hold on, Zuko, not now_ playing back in his head like some cursed mantra on repeat.

And never in his wildest dreams—no, not even _those_ kinds of dreams—never has Zuko been so turned on in his whole life, naked and rocking back and forth over Sokka’s lap like his entire body depends on it.

( _Forgive me, Agni, for I have sinned_.)

( _Don’t take Agni’s name in vain, you idiot. What did Uncle teach you?_ )

( _Well, I’d like to see you deal with having_ that—Zuko hisses as Sokka thrusts just a bit deeper— _stuck up_ your _ass_.)

( _Cells don’t have asses_.)

( _Will you stop_ —)

Zuko doesn’t even have a chance to finish his thought, the sheer humiliation of the fact that he’s _fucking my best friend during his fucking job interview_ anchoring him to reality.

And as if he _knows_ that Zuko’s there, the interviewer pipes up again from the phone. “Give me a little more insight about what kind of team leader you are. What kind of leadership style do you have?”

“Oh, sure!” Sokka sounds completely unfazed, never mind the fact that he’s still very much focused on making Zuko a shivering, shaking mess. “I tend to be a very _direct_ leader. I bring everyone together first so we can set our goals as a group, and I delegate tasks and responsibilities based on everyone’s strengths and interests.”

“I usually _lead by example_ , too,” he continues, bracing himself against the sofa and fucking Zuko even harder. “I find that people learn best by _observation_ and _practice_ , and I’m a big believer in the _hands-on_ approach, if you get my drift.”

( _Your drift, my ass_. Zuko’s brain cell doesn’t sound particularly impressed.)

( _I thought you said brain cells didn’t have asses_.)

( _Woah there, no need to get snarky on me, now_.)

( _Pot, meet kettle_.)

“And what do you think makes an effective team?” The interviewer's voice breaks through the fog of Zuko’s mind, a reminder of the literal position he is in.

Sokka’s grip tightens around Zuko’s waist. “I think that communication is key. Being able to make sure that everyone’s on board and on the same page before we move forward with a project. As a leader, I really enjoy listening to everyone’s thoughts and perspectives before I make any decisions.”

“And also discipline and proactivity, so that the team can function together as a whole.” O _h spirits_ , he’s tracing stripes up and down Zuko’s spine now, light touches that have Zuko twisting and writhing. “So we can maximize productivity, too.”

“Interesting, Mister Qanik. Interesting.” The interviewer continues. “So tell me about your strengths.”

Sokka waits for a moment as Zuko sucks in a breathful of fresh air before he thrusts back in and the torturously slow pounding begins again. “Well, I’m a _hard_ worker, first and foremost.”

“And I’m _extremely_ assertive, and I always _take the lead_ when I can.” Sokka hesitates. Zuko gasps when Sokka laces their hands together. “It’s probably one of my best traits, quite honestly.”

“But my greatest strength is probably my creativity.” Sokka rolls his hips slightly and _good spirits_ , Zuko’s entire body tenses up as another ripple of _something_ crests over him. “I’m known to use unorthodox solutions depending on the situation and using them to _take advantage_ to get what _I_ want.”

The phone crackles with static. “And your weaknesses? How have you overcome them?”

“Hm.” Sokka hums, and for a moment, it almost seems like he’s faltering—and then he picks up the pace again, burying himself into Zuko and setting Zuko’s nerves on fire. “Well, I’ve been known to be a bit impatient, especially with deadlines. I know what I want and when I want it, and I’ve definitely been taking steps into being more proactive when it comes to managing efficiency with others and having a strong dialogue with them.”

He pushes in _that_ much deeper, and Zuko isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. His poor body is completely ravaged at this point, fire-lily bruises and hickeys blooming on his neck, his shoulder blades, his chest. Zuko’s hair is a complete mess, sleek strands plastered across his forehead, the smell of argan and sandalwood clinging to his nose. His entire body is practically weeping in frustration at how Sokka’s holding back—just barely, just enough to hold Zuko from the relief he wants.

“And of course, I have a hard time letting go of things I’m passionate about.” Sokka’s eyes are clear and fearless, a rippling sea of cornflower as he relaxes his grip on Zuko’s hips and his fingers cup Zuko’s chin just so. “I have a tendency to develop an attachment towards things I’ve worked very hard for, especially since I’m constantly looking for ways to improve myself to become the best person I can be.”

Zuko can’t help himself anymore as he lets out the softest of whimpers.

“What was that?” The recruiter asks, and Zuko’s eyes widen in horror when he realizes what he’s just done, how he let out that horrendous noise and _good, dear Agni, please, take my body from this corporeal plane because I can never face anyone in public ever again_.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Sokka looks amused, mouth tilted in another smirk as he tests out— _oh, fuck, not that again_ —Zuko is able to hold back his whimper this time. “It’s my puppy, actually. He’s very feisty _and_ needy—but you know how puppies are.”

( _A puppy? Really?_ )

( _I mean, you_ did _make that atrocious noise_.)

( _Fuck you_.)

“Ah, I see.” The line falls silent for a moment. “Well, on the topic of puppies—and puppies are a big responsibility—how do you see yourself balancing your work and your life?”

“It’s a delicate balance, that’s for sure.” Sokka continues his relentless rhythm under Zuko, practically fucking the blistering firelights out of him. “But I’m fully confident that, with the right schedule and priorities, I’ll be able to devote my time to both my _career_ and my _passions_.”

The last word is punctuated by an especially hard thrust that nearly sends Zuko somewhere over the proverbial rainbow, his fingernails digging into Sokka’s back. Zuko’s mind is spinning as he rides out wave after wave of ecstasy pooling in his stomach and threatening to unleash in his lungs.

“That’s very good to hear, Mister Qanik. I was wondering if you could tell me about a time you experienced a setback and how you moved past it?”

Sokka stops moving.

Zuko whines—he tries to hold it in, he really does—and yelps when Sokka puts a hand around his neck and pulls him into his shoulder with startling force. Sokka begins to fuck him harder, faster, an endless crest of euphoria building up in Zuko’s entire body with each movement, burning and blistering his veins.

“Oh, of course.” Sokka’s voice sounds ragged—hoarse, almost—as he holds the phone close and Zuko closer. “I’ve always wanted to give back to the people around me in some way, so in sophomore year of college, I joined the tutoring center as a tutor.”

(Zuko doesn’t think he’s ever heard this story before.)

“And it was going fairly well with my students—until I ended up, um—” Sokka stumbles, “—until I ended up doing some freelance tutoring and took on a new student. Everything was going really well, actually, until I realized that I was developing feelings for them, which is completely unprofessional on my part.”

Suddenly, there’s an ache in Zuko’s heart and a knot in his throat because _no way, was Sokka_ —

“And I decided I had to face my feelings head-on,” Sokka’s still, chest heaving as he blinks up at Zuko. “And I realized I had to make a decision whether or not I could confidently work with my student without my emotions getting in the way of my work as a tutor.”

“So I quit.” Sokka bites his lip. “I quit my tutoring job so I could spend more time with them.”

He brings Zuko’s hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles, from thumb to pinky finger and it’s so intimate, so shockingly sweet, Zuko feels a tear rolling down his cheek.

( _Is he talking about me?_ He thinks softly to himself.)

( _Get a grip, loverboy._ Zuko’s brain cell sounds surprisingly reassuring. _Of_ course _he’s talking about you, numbnut_.)

( _Really?_ )

( _Um, you’re literally fucking him right now because he didn’t want you to leave earlier, remember?_ )

( _Oh. Yeah_.)

“That’s—uh, that’s—that’s quite the story, Mister Qanik.” The interviewer sounds confused. “I can see that you’re someone who really cares about maintaining both your professional and your personal life?”

“I sure am.” Sokka frowns slightly, a calloused thumb running over Zuko’s cheek and catching the stray teardrop.

(He mouths a silent “ _are you okay?_ ” and Zuko nods tentatively, a wobbly smile growing on his face when Sokka breathes a sigh of relief.)

Zuko’s thoughts just play _he-has-feelings-for-someone-and-that-might-be-me_ and _holy-shit-what-do-I-say-after-this-interview-because-I’ve-literally-been-fucking-him-the-entire-time_ on repeat while Sokka continues the interview, not to mention the fact that Sokka’s still _inside of him_ and doing unspeakably dangerous things with his hands. Sokka caresses his hands, his arms, his hips, one ear still pressed to his phone as he works through the interview with devastating ease while mercilessly fucking Zuko until he’s panting and praying for release.

And perhaps it’s the fact that Zuko’s nerves are going haywire in all dimensions, but hearing Sokka continue on with the interview like he isn’t fucking someone to a higher plane of existence makes Zuko more and more aroused, to the point where he’s making a complete mess out of himself in Sokka’s shoulder, his wailing muffled by straining muscle and feverish skin.

“I just have one last question.” The interviewer’s voice cuts through Zuko’s mind once more. “What made you interested in our company?”

“I’ve actually been interested in Caldera Corp. since my freshman year, ever since I went to a fireside chat with Caldera’s CTO about the developments and challenges of a continuously adapting world and how technology plays a role,” Sokka replies.

( _Huh? But Caldera Corp., isn’t Caldera Corp._ —)

( _Yes, it’s the company you work for, you nincompoop_.)

( _But why—what—why—how—what is Sokka doing_ —)

“And I’m looking forward to being a part of a company on the _cutting edge_ of industry, especially with all the new software and social media platforms Caldera is developing. I want to use my talents and my experience to play a critical role in the company.”

Spirits above, Sokka’s nibbling on Zuko’s collarbone now, nipping and sucking like his lips and his teeth and his tongue were made just for this—and Zuko’s so far gone, he’s dangling on the edge of the precipice by two fingers and waiting for gravity to pull him back into pleasure. He doesn’t even catch the rest of the interview, too caught up in listening to Sokka’s heartbeat pounding against his own.

“—thank you for having me,” Sokka’s saying, and Zuko’s eyelids flutter when Sokka pulls him in for another soft kiss, rich and warm against his lips. “Looking forward to hearing from you soon.”

Sokka hangs up, tosses his phone off to the side, and redirects his attention back to Zuko quaking in his lap.

“Oh, Zuko,” he murmurs sweetly. “You’ve been so patient, haven’t you?”

“ _Gonna—I’m gonna—oh, fuck—Sokka, gonna come_.”

“One more time, okay?” Sokka braces himself on the couch and cradles Zuko’s head in his hands as he speeds up once more. “Come on, _sweetheart_.”

 _Fucking fuck_ , Zuko thinks, because, of course, _sweetheart’s_ the thing that sends him careening off the edge, keening and sobbing and pawing at Sokka’s shoulders as his orgasm rips through him, a trail of embers and ashes glowing in its wake. It’s vicious, really, the way that Zuko’s lungs fill with sharp smoke, the way his legs collapse under him, the way his body shudders at the absolute rush of emotion crashing through his entire being.

A haze of happiness settles over Zuko, and he can vaguely feel Sokka pulling out and not much else. A pillow finds its way under his head, plush and soft and comforting as Zuko waits for his heartbeat to settle down. His body is aching in all sorts of places, and he wonders how long it’ll take for him to recover from the intensity he experienced minutes before.

“Gonna clean us up, mhm?” Sokka mutters somewhere above him before something warm and soothing moves across Zuko’s chest, past his hips and down to his knees. Sokka’s meticulous, fingers tracing, worshipping every inch of Zuko’s skin.

“ _So, so beautiful_ ,” and Sokka’s whispering again, songs of praise for Zuko and Zuko alone, the sounds curling into Zuko’s ears and making their way down into his ecstasy-worn heart. And then they’re cuddling, Sokka wrapping one arm protectively around Zuko’s chest, his leg draped over Zuko’s thigh and pulling him against Sokka’s warmth.

Zuko blinks in and out of consciousness to the sound of Kitchen Nightmares on the TV and the feeling of Sokka nuzzling his neck, hands tangled in Zuko’s hair as he lazily twists inky ringlets in between his fingers.

“Hey there, _sweetheart_.” Sokka turns Zuko around and presses a kiss on his forehead.

Zuko moans.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I just ran two marathons,” Zuko rumbles and _good Agni_ , what the fuck is up with his voice, all scratchy and hoarse like he’s been yelling for the past two hours or something?

( _You kinda were yelling for the past two hours, though_. And the brain cell is back online.)

( _Shut up_.)

“Oh, fucking fuck—are you doing okay? Anything I can get you?” Sokka sounds worried, anxious almost.

“You could get me a boyfriend,” Zuko mumbles sleepily before his eyes snap open in terror at the words he’s breathed into existence.

Sokka freezes and silence falls, save for the sounds of Gordon Ramsey screaming about microwaved seafood and frozen vegetables. Zuko’s mind is racing, desperately trying to find the fastest escape route from the couch into his bedroom so he doesn’t have to face Sokka, but his head is pounding and he can’t stop quivering in Sokka’s arms. There’s absolutely nowhere to go, and he can feel his heartbeat speeding up again, a frenetic staccato crashing against his lungs.

“You heard my interview, right?” Sokka’s tone is teasing, though there’s a slight edge to it. “When they asked me about a setback?”

“The tutoring thing?” Zuko’s hands are fists, his fingernails digging into his skin in apprehension.

“Yeah, that.” And the tension is thick, stifling in between them.

Zuko isn’t prepared for Sokka to move away, flipping Zuko around so they’re face to face, bright-blue against honey-hazel. Sokka reaches up and traces Zuko’s cheek.

“Sweetheart, I was talking about you.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

 _Oh shit_.

✦ ✧ ✦

“Hey, babe?” Sokka asks one night after a particularly grueling make out session in Sokka’s bedroom that had Zuko seeing stars and achieving subspace for the first time. Zuko’s still coming down from the high, chest heaving as he rolls over and burrowing into Sokka’s arms.

“Hm?”

“So, uh—” Sokka clasps their hands together and squeezes them tightly, “—remember that interview I had?”

“Oh, that one?” _The one where you fucked me while talking to the interviewer and I couldn’t walk for two days straight?_

“Yeah. _That_ one.” Sokka brushes Zuko’s hair to the side and kisses him on the nose. “Guess what? _I got the job_.”

Zuko’s never been more proud—or mortified—for his boyfriend.

“And guess what?”

“I don’t want to guess anymore,” Zuko whines petulantly.

“Funny story, actually.” Sokka grins, teeth gleaming in the sliver of moonlight in between the blinds over the window. “I actually got to meet my interviewer, and I think you’d be surprised to know who it is.”

A feeling of dread settles over Zuko’s stomach. “Who?”

Sokka tugs him in close and whispers two words into his ear.

Zuko wishes he could melt into the ground and straight into the depths of the spirit realm.

“Are you serious? What do you mean, _Lu Ten was your interviewer?_ ”

“Zuko?”

“—downright humiliating that this would happen—”

“Babe, it’s not really that bad.”

“—never going home again, I swear to Agni—”

“Sweetheart, calm down.”

“— _my cousin listening to me fuck my boyfriend_ —”

Zuko's really going to miss Uncle's fried rice at their family dinners now, because there's no way he can ever sit down and look at Lu Ten in the eye ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to kudo/comment! i hope you enjoyed it : )


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